


Countdown to Christmas

by Salambo06 (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas Party, Collection of Christmas ficlet, Established Relationship, First Time, Frist Kiss, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Scotland Yard, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5351963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all my Christmas ficlet. This an attempt to the Johnlock Advent Calendar but I already know I won't be able to write all 25 of them, so I'll post here the ones I managed to write !</p><p>A summary/prompt for each ones will be posted in the notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A memorable night

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> [My Tumblr](http://letthechoirsing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Chapter prompt: It isn’t the first year Sherlock’s wound up in A&E on Christmas Eve, but it’s certainly the most memorable.

Sherlock spent his first Christmas Eve in the hospital at age 23, high on cocaine and believing he was somewhere in Russia chasing criminals. Lestrade was the one who brought him, putting an end to their arrangement and leaving without another word. It had taken four days for Sherlock to come back to his senses, and another two weeks to convince the DI he could get clean. Lestrade had made him promise he would never have to spend another Christmas Eve worrying about him in some hospital and Sherlock had agreed, hoping Lestrade would just shut up about it and focus back on the case.

Sherlock got clean but somehow keeping his promise turned out to be a bit more difficult.

The second time was Mycroft’s fault entirely. If he haven't forced Sherlock to come to his boring Christmas party then Sherlock wouldn't have tried to deduce the prime minister’s wife’s adultery with the chief of security, and therefore wouldn’t have been punched by the said chief and broken his nose. Really, none of it had been his fault.

It happened a third time, two years later, and this time Sherlock may have been looking for it. Lestrade had been clear when he had warned him about the gun their suspect kept in his bedroom but the police team was taking forever to arrive and clearly their suspect was going to get away. Sherlock didn't have any choice, really. This time Lestrade had stayed with him the entire night, even after the doctor had assured them it was only a graze and that Sherlock would only have a small scar. Strangely, Lestrade hadn't seemed as upset about spending another Christmas Eve by his hospital bed.

By the fourth time, the nurses and doctors began to flee the emergency desk when Sherlock arrived. It's not as if Sherlock could just ignore their idiocracy at stitching up a cut or making a proper bandage. If anything else, Sherlock had been trying to help them train their staff correctly. That explained why Sherlock got to meet a new doctor every year and scared them away within the first hour. At least, deducing their boring lives kept him entertained for a moment.

So it was no surprise to see the nurse walk away from her desk as soon as Sherlock passed through the front door for the fifth time in six years. But tonight Sherlock was not here because of some stupid wound or worried DI. He had a suspect to catch, and if it meant spending yet another Christmas Eve at the ER, then so be it. Taking advantage of the nurse’s absence, Sherlock looked through the night record and stopped when his suspect’s name came up, Taken by Dr. J. Watson. Sherlock closed the files again and walked to the different offices, not seeing the doctor’s name. Soon enough, he was in front of the right door. Sherlock didn’t bother knocking, and the man sitting at the desk jumped in surprise as Sherlock asked, “The man who was just here, where did you send him?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” The doctor stood up and Sherlock took a quick look at him, army doctor, wounded in combat, psychosomatic limp, family trouble. “And what are you doing in my office?”

“Not important right now,” Sherlock said as he stepped closer to the man, “Where did you send him?” 

“I can’t tell you that, he’s a patient.” The doctor replied harshly, straightening into a military pose, getting ready for whatever Sherlock might do. 

““Please, let’s not waste any more time with formalites. Tell me where you sent him.”

“Sir, I need you to exit my office now.” The man walked to his door, waving for Sherlock to get out. 

“This is a police investigation.” Sherlock tried, stepping until he was invading the doctor’s personal space. The man didn’t back up, just as Sherlock had expected. Interesting.

“Really? Can I see your ID then?”

Sherlock stepped away, getting annoyed now “You’re a military man, surely you’d want to catch a murderer if you’d had the chance!”

“Murderer?”

“I already told you, I don’t have any time to waste.” The doctor blinked a few times, his hand still closed around the door handle. 

“I don’t understand.” He replied. Mostly for himself, Sherlock noticed. 

“He stayed in your office ten minutes, too much time for a minor injury. I didn’t see him exit the hospital, which means he left with a nurse. So you must have send him to another floor. Not two minutes before entering this hospital, this man stepped into an alley, alone, perfectly fine and came back with an injury important enough to warrant a stay in the hospital. What does that tell us?”

“You were following him?” The doctor asked suspiciously but clearly more and more interested by the conversation.

“Not important!” Sherlock snapped, “This man wanted to stay here, he needed to be sent somewhere inside this building.”

“Are you saying this patient hurt himself so he could access the hospital?”

“Took you long enough.” Sherlock replied, but he couldn’t hold back a smile as the man rolled his eyes. “Where did you send him?”

“The-”

But before the man could answer the hospital alarm went off and Sherlock stormed out of the office. A second of hesitation later, the doctor followed suit. Smiling, Sherlock went for the stairs, climbing two by two until they reached the fourth floor, the doctor breathing heavily behind him. 

“Where did you send him?” Sherlock asked again, and this time the doctor replied quickly. 

“Radiology.” He stepped in front of Sherlock and began running again, “this way.”

Everyone was out of their rooms, nurses and doctors trying to calm down the most anxious patients. Even Santa Claus was walking toward the nearest emergency exit. Sherlock tried to follow the doctor as best as he could, the man taking turn after turn in the numerous hallways. It had been along time since Sherlock had been the one following some one else on a case and the thought made him smile again. Somehow, he couldn’t wait for the doctor to realise his cane was still against his desk, four floors down. 

“He’s here.” Sherlock heard the doctor yell and they both ran faster, as the suspect had just spotted them.

Sherlock caught up with the doctor, focusing on his suspect’s form in front of him but more and more people were gathering in the halls, Sherlock colliding with several bodies on his way. The doctor, however, seemed to avoid any obstacles with ease. The suspect was now right in front of them and Sherlock glanced at the doctor, urging him to hurry. Losing his focus for less than a second, Sherlock didn’t anticipate the numerous Christmas presents in front of one of the doors and fell down, barely catching the sight of his suspect being tackled to the ground.

“Careful!” A nurse yelled, but Sherlock was already on his feet, ignoring the pain in his ankle as he walked to the doctor still pining the suspect on the floor.

“Nice catch,” Sherlock smiled and the doctor laughed, his smile spreading to his entire face. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock said, introducing himself properly.

“John Watson,” the doctor replied, “What should we do with him?”

“I’ve already texted the Detective Inspector, he should be here soon.” Sherlock explained and John nodded, tightening his grip around the man’s wrist. “What you did there,” he waved at the suspect, “thank you.”

John nodded again, “I didn’t think before running.”

“Military reflexes,” Sherlock pointed out and John frowned at him.

“How did you know about that by the way?” He asked, “Even in my office you said-”

“Your skin, not tanned below the neck which means exposure to the sun but not for fun. Besides, your reactions gave it away when I walked into your office. You stayed in control but were primed for a fight. Then there is your cane, you don’t lean on it with every step. Psychosomatic limp, proven by the fact that you don’t have your cane now but stand perfectly fine.”

John looked down at his leg and then back up at Sherlock, “Amazing.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to be taken aback but before he could reply, Lestrade’s voice came from behind him, “Sherlock, please tell me you didn’t trigger an alarm in a hospital AND on Christmas Eve?”

“It wasn't my doing,” Sherlock replied, turning to face him, “but his.” He pointed at the suspect, strangely silent. Lestrade stepped closer. 

“Is that Johnson?!”

“Yes, I followed him all week,” Sherlock explained, “I suspected he might go after another doctor.”

Lestrade waved for his men to cuff him, frowning at John at the same time, “And who are you?”

“John Watson, I-”

“John helped me catch him,” Sherlock said quickly, “He’s clean.”

“I’ll still need you for a statement.” Lestrade explained and Sherlock sighed, “Both of you!”

“Surely you have more important things to do on Christmas Eve,” Sherlock replied, hissing in pain as he leant on his injured ankle. 

“You twisted your ankle?” John asked after the suspect had been led away. 

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll check it,” John declared, “Let’s go back to my office.”

“Sherlock,” Lestrade called, “I need you at the police station!”

“You head the doctor,” Sherlock defended himself, “I can’t go right now.”

“This week, Sherlock!” Lestrade warned before letting them go. 

The two made the walk back to John’s office in complete silence, John turning around from time to time to make sure Sherlock was alright. After a couple moments, Sherlock realized it wasn’t an awkward silence. John didn’t seem to be the kind of person who talks when there is nothing to talk about, another consequence of the army. The doctor was lost in his thoughts, probably thinking about the sudden disappearance of his limp. 

“You can sit on the examination table,” John said when they arrived in his office. Sherlock moved to sit down while John washed up at the in-room sink.

“It’s nothing,” Sherlock assured him but let John examine his ankle turning it slowly while staring at Sherlock. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” John smiled, “Does that hurt?”

“No,” Sherlock said honestly, John’s hand on his bare skin making him shift on the table. 

“It’s not twisted,” John declared, “but it will hurt for a few days.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“As long as you don’t run after murderers, you will.” John laughed, still smiling. Sherlock really needed to stop staring. 

John walked back to his desk, writing down a prescription for some painkillers and handed it to Sherlock. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said and John nodded knowingly. 

“Actually,” John’s said as Sherlock was about to leave, “My shift is over and I was wondering if you’d like to go have a coffee.”

Sherlock turned around slowly and faced a quite determined John, watching him from his desk. He should refuse. John’s intentions were clear, even an idiot could guess what the doctor had in mind, and Sherlock didn’t need to go have coffee with people, never had. Tonight didn’t change a thing. John didn’t change a thing. Yet, Sherlock found himself replying “I’ll wait outside.” 

John’s radiant face stayed in Sherlock’s mind the entire time it took to smoke his cigarette. Without even realising he was doing it, Sherlock was already storing all of John’s smiles to his Mind Palace. 

“These things will kill you,” John declared when he joined him, his cheeks already red due to the cold. Sherlock finished his cigarette quickly, looking away. 

“Where are we going?” Sherlock asked when he was sure his voice was steady again.

“I know a place just around the corner.” John put his hands in his pockets and began walking, Sherlock keeping pace next to him. That peaceful silence felt upon them again. They took their time, Sherlock accepting the simple fact that he was truly enjoying John’s presence. “We’re here.” 

The coffee shop was filled with Christmas decorations and Sherlock grimaced as he walked in, “Too many colours?” John inquired, taking off his coat. 

“Too much everything,” Sherlock replied and sat down, facing John. 

“Their coffee is very good, so it’s worth it.” 

There weren’t many clients inside, and Sherlock wondered for a moment how John had managed to find an open coffee shop on Christmas Eve. It was obvious John hadn’t had any plans for the evening, and Sherlock still couldn’t believe he had agreed to this. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, or even what this late coffee was supposed to mean. Had John actually asked him on date merely hours after meeting him? Or was he just inviting him to have company on this particular day? 

Sherlock wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. 

“So,” John’s voice brought him back to reality, “catching murderers, is that a regular thing?”

“You could say so, yes.” Sherlock answered, hesitating for a moment before explaining, “I’m a consulting detective, I invented the job.”

“And what does a consulting detective do?” John inquired, leaning forward on his elbows and Sherlock swore he could feel his own cheeks get warmer under his stare. 

Breathing out slowly, Sherlock began to explain his numerous cases and work with the Yard. John listened with wide eyes and whispered “Amazing” and “Extraordinary”, and Sherlock felt himself relax as time went on, the two of them getting interrupted by the waiter only once or twice. Then John asked for a proper explanation concerning Sherlock’s deductions on him and by the time Sherlock was finished, they were sitting even closer to each other, the mere concept of personal space forgotten entirely. 

“And you didn’t have anyone to spend Christmas with?” John asked after their second cup of coffee, “Loved ones, friends, girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend,” Sherlock shrugged, “not really my area.”

“Oh,” John said as he licked his lips, “Boyfriend then?”

Sherlock knew this was his chance to make things clear between them. John’s face was so very open, Sherlock reading the hope and want in his eyes easily and guessing how this meeting could end wasn’t difficult. It had been years since Sherlock had last slept with someone, or at least engaged in a relationship. It always ends badly. Why would it be different now?

John sat back in his chair, apparently taking Sherlock’s silence for the answer he had feared. Sherlock watched him finish his cup of coffee quickly, glancing at him before looking down again. 

“No,” Sherlock replied, his voice low and John’s head snapped back up.

John’s tongue darted out again, “Good.” He smiled and Sherlock realised he had been seduced hours ago by the very same stretch of lips, “That makes both of us.” Sherlock took back his own cup, hiding his smile as he felt John’s foot settle against his. 

It was only when the waiter announced they were going to close that Sherlock realised they’ve been talking for more than three hours. John insisted on paying and Sherlock left first, waiting for John in front of the coffee shop. He closed his Belstaff more firmly around him as the cold air made him shiver, trying to imagine what the rest of night would offer. John exited the coffee shop quickly and stood facing Sherlock, both of them remaining silent for a moment. Sherlock saw John hesitate for a second, and before he could realise what was happening, John was on his tiptoes and kissing him. It was soft, John’s lips dry but warm and tasting of coffee, and Sherlock closed his eyes, savouring the sensations. But then John backed up, whispering against his mouth as he looked up, “It’s tradition.” Sherlock followed his stare, seeing the mistletoe hanging from the coffee shop front door. 

Sherlock only had the time to smile before John’s mouth came to meet his again, his hands cupping Sherlock’s face and deepening the kiss when Sherlock parted his lips, their tongues sliding against each other slowly. Sherlock let himself melt into their embrace, stepping closer to John until they were pressed together and encircled John’s waist with his arms. He felt John smile against his lips and Sherlock chased back his mouth as soon as John let go, his giggles dying between tender kisses. 

It didn’t matter how the night would end, as long as John kept kissing him, it was absolutely perfect. 

~

When, a year later, Sherlock ended up in the ER for the eighth time, John was right behind him. Sherlock listened to him cursing about some stupid experiment and ruined Christmas diner and Sherlock smiled. He hopped a certain coffee shop was open for the night. It would surely make John smile again and that was all Sherlock needed for Christmas anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> •Drinking games at the Yarders Christmas party! - anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Teamfreewillat221bakerstreet](http://teamfreewillat221bbakerstreet.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> [My Tumblr](http://letthechoirsing.tumblr.com/)

“Come on, Sherlock,” Lestrade laughed, his breath already smelled strongly of alcohol and Sherlock took a step back, “It’s just one game.”

“What make you think I want to play some ridiculous game when the only rule is to drink much more than anyone should.” Sherlock snapped, searching for John is the crowed Yard’s hall. 

“But it’s for fun!” Lestrade replied, taking another sip of his drink. “Even John is playing!”

“John?” 

“Yes, he’s getting the the glasses right now.” Lestrade explained, waving at the door in the back of the room, “Come on, Sherlock, just this time.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, wondering once again how he could have let John drag him to the Yard’s Christmas Party, and now John was going to play some idiot drinking game. Really, Sherlock didn’t see how the night get any worse. 

“Ok,” Anderson suddenly yelled, “Who’s playing?”

 _That settles it_ , Sherlock sighed.

“Just this time,” Lestrade said, walking to the sit down with all the others players and Sherlock considered fleeing. It wouldn’t be too hard with everyone already drunk but then John would know. 

“I hate you.” Sherlock snarled but Lestrade only smiled. 

Sherlock stayed up, watching the several players already thinking about the predictable and boring question they were going to ask. It was not the first time Sherlock had found himself in this situation, and every time, the same old, boring game was chosen. _John must remember the name_ , Sherlock though, looking at the door once again, he always remember useless information. _How long does it take to find glasses anyway?_

“Sherlock, sit down.” Lestrade called, everyone already ready to play. 

“I am not playing until-” 

“Sherlock,” John’s voice came next to him, “You’re playing?”

“It seems so.” Sherlock shrugged and John smiled, his hands brushing against his discretely.

“Just for a hour,” John whispered, “and then we go home.”

Sherlock nodded, his mind already full of all the things he could do to John once they’re alone and the way John licked his lips made it clear he was thinking the same thing. _I just need to upset them all and no one would want to play anymore_. They both sat down, taking their glasses with them and Lestrade stood up. 

“Alright, let’s play “Never have I ever”,” He announced just as Sherlock had expected, “You all know the rules?” Everyone nodded, and Sherlock didn’t miss John’s smirk next to him. “Who wants to begin?”

Some detective raised her hand, “Never have I ever play a drink game before.”

All of the players drunk and Sherlock only took a quick sip of his own drink, Lestrade glaring at him but Sherlock gave him his best fake smile, making it clear he won’t give him the pleasure to get drunk. John sighed beside him, filling his glass again and Sherlock realised it wouldn’t take long before John would start giggling and saying nonsense. He had to made sure they were home before John spilled something private to the whole Yard.

“Okay, my turn,” Donovan declared, looking at everyone as if she was looking for question when she clearly had something in mind already. Her eyes stopped on John, “Never have I ever shared a flatshare.”

Sherlock had to restrain himself from laughing out loud. This was obviously directed to the both of them and really, she could have found a more subtle way to do it. If Donovan’s plan was to make them drink glass after glass, then Sherlock could play the same game. But before he could open his mouth, Dimmock spoke up;

“That was too easy, Sally,” He smiled, “A bit tougher now. Never have I ever had the same flatshare for more than two years.” 

Three people took a drink, including John and him, and Sherlock stared at Dimmock’s proud face. _Something’s up_ , he realised as he put his glass away again. He glanced at John but he seemed oblivious to the implied meaning behind Dimmock’s intervention. Focusing back on the game, Sherlock waited for the next person to propose a question. He needed more data.

“Never have I ever,” began a men from the drug department, “been drunk enough to forget my own name.”

 _Boring_ , Sherlock though as only one person drunk and he focused back on Lestrade. He was looking at Donovan next to him, whispering and Sherlock didn’t like the way Donovan smirked. _What are they planning?_

“I have one,” John said to him, startling Sherlock, “Never have I ever celebrated Christmas in a police station before.” 

“That’s only because Sherlock made sure to take a case halfway across the country last year,” Anderson mocked but John ignored him as the rest of the players all drunk. 

“Never have I ever broke off one of my friend’s relationships.” Lestrade blurted out staring at him, and Sherlock took a careful sip of his drink. John shifted next to him, _he knows they’re up to something too._

“Never have I ever,” Sherlock replied immediately, cutting off the women next to him, “used a drinking game to find out personal things about other people.” 

“That’s the whole point of this game, Sherlock.” Donovan snarled, drinking. “Wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”

Sherlock only started at her, making sure she realised he knew exactly what they were doing. John leaned in next to him, “Let them, Sherlock.” and smiled when Sherlock turned to him, _maybe it’s time._

After all they’ve been keeping this secret for months now, and Sherlock could never have guessed they would have managed it this long. It wasn’t as if they had been careful every time they were out, John’s love for stolen moments and dark corners too strong for them to hide all the time. So Sherlock listened absently as they continue to come out with more and more obvious questions and smirked at Lestrade’s proud smile every time he managed to make them drink. But then John was getting more and more drunk, his shoulder brushing Sherlock’s every time he moved, and honestly the whole situation was becoming rather boring. 

So when Lestrade declared it was his turn again and announced : “Never have I ever kissed my best friend.” Sherlock decided it was time to put an end to this game. 

“Alright, enough now,” he said as he stood up, putting John to his feet at the same time, “Since it’s Christmas and John assured me it is the polite thing to do, I will give you one present.” He turned to John and kissed him, capturing his gasp of surprise and waiting until John was relaxed against him before stepping back, smiling as John reopened his eyes slowly. Then he focused back on Lestrade who was grinning at them both, “If you had only asked instead of using this stupid game, I’m sure we would have answered.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Lestrade laughed, and John giggled with him. _It’s really time to go home._

“He’s right,” John smiled and took his hand, “Now, if you excuse us, I still have to give Sherlock his Christmas gift.”

Half the Yard laughed as John pulled him toward the exit, Lestrade’s voice shouting behind them “I better not find anything on security footage tomorrow!”. But John was pushing Sherlock back against the door, crashing their mouth together in a wet and sloppy kiss and Sherlock forgot entirely about that part and anything other than John’s body against him. 

He couldn’t wait to unwrap his gift.


	3. I want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the following prompt : “I'm a gift consultant. I’m the only one in the world. I invented the job. When people are out of their depths when it comes to giving gifts to people, which is always, they come to me.”

Sherlock looked down at the files in his hands once more, his eyes scanning the information written below quickly and efficiently. He knew most of it by heart now, and really, solving this problem shouldn't be that hard. Yet, here he was, days after his client sought his help and Sherlock hadn't found a single idea. Nothing. Usually by now he would have found the perfect solution for his client, leaving them happy and thanking him repeatedly. But Sherlock had been following the same man for four days, trying to look for clues and little things that would satisfy his duty, and honestly Sherlock was becoming a bit frustrated. 

John Watson, ex-army Doctor, recently invalided home after a shot in the shoulder and possessing a psychosomatic limp. Most of the time Sherlock didn't need more information than that but this man seemed to be a complete contradiction. Sherlock couldn’t find a single reliable thing about him that could help him solve this problem. That's why he found himself following him once again, his coat firmly buttoned around him and his hands curled around the file in his pocket. John had been taking his walk for more than a hour now, stopping from time to time in front of a shop but never once entering. Sherlock was beginning to think he should go home and try to gather more information about the time John spent in Afghanistan. Maybe the answer for his question was there.

Sherlock closed his eyes, a contented sigh escaping him as he thought of the fire burning in his flat. Some warmth would be very welcome after a day like this. Sherlock was about to turn away, Baker Street wasn’t too far away after all, when two strong arms caught his. The shock of it forced him to open his eyes again only to find the same John Watson he'd been following standing right before him.

“Listen mate, I don't know, and bloody don't care why you've been following me these past few days,” John growled, tightening his grip on Sherlock, “but if I see you again, I'm afraid I will be forced to do something we’ll both regret!”

Leaving no time for Sherlock to answer, John stared at him for another second before walking away. Only then did Sherlock remember to breathe and he watched as the small but strong figure disappear in the crowded streets. Inhaling deeply, Sherlock considered inventing a lie for his client, something to get rid of this case quickly and ensure he’d never cross John’s path again. It's not as if he needed the money. Sherlock could just give up, follow the man’s advice and leave him alone.

It was simple really. 

Which was why Sherlock found himself outside again, the very next day, walking behind John keeping a further distance between them this time. He made sure he made himself invisible every time John turned around or stopped to look at some random shop. He simply needed to be more careful. There was no reason to forego helping this particular client just because there were some complications. It had been too long since Sherlock had been confronted with such a case, and the thrill was too good to resist. There was no reason for John to be such a mystery, and Sherlock would have an answer. No matter what it took.

With all this window shopping, surely John would give away what he wanted. Sherlock just had to be there when it happened. Turning his collar up, Sherlock began walking again. 

“Careful!” A voice exclaimed next to him and Sherlock glanced at the speaker, a cup of hot tea in hand and looking at him angrily. “You almost spilled my tea!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and proceeded to ignore the man entirely. He had more important things to do, such as finding John again. _He can't be that far away_. He had been looking at some jewelry not a minute ago. Sherlock walked faster, his eyes efficiently scanning the people around him. A yell of surprise escaped him when he found himself being pushed into an alley, a familiar arm anchored across his chest as John shoved him against the nearest wall.

“I thought I made myself clear yesterday!” He snapped, his eyes fixed on Sherlock. “Care to explain why you're still flowing me?”

“I promise you,” Sherlock replied quickly, “there is a good reason.”

“I surely hope so!” John applied more pressure to Sherlock’s chest.

“I…” Sherlock began, ready to lie but maybe his was the opportunity to get a better read of this man, “I was hired to find the perfect gift for you.”

At least his response took John by surprise and he stepped back a little, “The perfect what?”

“The perfect gift,” Sherlock repeated. “I'm a gift consultant. I’m the only one in the world. I invented the job. When people are out of their depths when it comes to giving gifts to people, which is always, they come to me.”

John stayed silent for a moment before bursting into laughter, “What kind of bullshit is that?”

“I'm quite serious.” Sherlock replied harshly, not liking the way John was looking at him. “Someone came to me, desperate to find you a gift and I agreed to help. I then gathered information about you, started a file and began to search for the right gift.”

“You have a file on me?” John frowned but Sherlock ignored the question.

“At first I thought I could suggest a new cane, yours being clearly old and soon obsolete. But then it was obvious that you hated it, a constant reminder that your mind is weak enough to make you believe you're in pain. You always look away when you catch someone looking back at you with pity or embarrassment. Definitely not the kind of gift you'll want for Christmas.” Sherlock stopped, waiting for some kind of outrage or maybe a punch, but John remained silent, watching him with sharp eyes. Most importantly, he removed his arm. “Then I noticed that you wear a lot of jumpers.” Sherlock continued carefully, “so I guessed it could be an idea. But how boring it is to give clothes as a present! And surely an ex-army doctor would think the same thing.”

“I guess so.” John smiled, taking Sherlock by surprise again. “So what was your next idea?”

“Tickets for a show, jewelry, books…” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. “You do spend a lot of time window shopping and never looking for the same thing.”

John laughed. “Of all the scenarios that crossed my mind, I would never have thought of that!”

“I'm good at what I do.” Sherlock explained.

“Not so much apparently,” John replied, “or we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

“Fine,” Sherlock admitted, “but that's only because you are impossible to read.”

“I tell you what,” John smiled again, stepping back until Sherlock could stand properly, “I'll tell you my perfect gift.”

“Really?” Sherlock frowned

“Yes, if you agree to have coffee with me.” Sherlock was about to reply by John continued, “There's still twelve days before December 23rd, so I will tell you one idea per day. Only one of them will be right. I'm sure you'll figure out which one.”

“I don't want to-” Sherlock began but stopped himself. _Wait, I only need to agree for one coffee and find the right questions._ Case solved. “Why?”

“Because I'm bored.” John offered and Sherlock had to hold back a laugh at the familiar answer.

“Is this a not so subtle way of asking me out?” Sherlock said, “Because I’m walking away this very second if that's the case.”

“This is not a ‘not so subtle way’ of asking you out,” John replied, holding up his hands in defense, “Promise.”

“I choose the coffee shop.” Sherlock declared, walking away, John following him.

“Alright, where do you suggest we go then?”

Sherlock didn't respond, leading John to the small coffee shop he liked not far away. John was walking silently beside him, his body maybe a bit too close for Sherlock to ignore properly. He needed to find a way to cut this meeting short, get the truth out of John quickly. In a way, Sherlock should have expected to be surprised by the man. John had been a mystery from the beginning and apparently was going to remain one for another hour or so. It was obvious that John could defend himself quite nicely and if he had wanted to he could have ensured that Sherlock would stop following him. Instead he had proposed this rather ridiculous solution and Sherlock had to say he didn't really understand what had crossed John’s mind. 

They arrived at the shop quickly and the sudden warmth made them both sigh, Sherlock glancing at John just in time to see him close his eyes, a content smile on his lips as he inhaled deeply. 

“Mr. Holmes,” the coffee shop owner greeted him, “the usual table?”

Sherlock nodded, not quite missing John’s frown next to him. They both sat down in a corner of the shop, their table far from the others. A waiter was already expecting their order and Sherlock decided quickly and waited for John to do the same. As he waited, Sherlock let his eyes travel on the numerous patterns and colors of John’s winter jumper. He snapped his eyes up when John finally made his choice. 

They remained silent for a few minutes before John asked, “Since you have a file on me, I assume you know my name.” Sherlock nodded. “It's only right to ask for yours.”

“Sherlock Holmes.” At least John will be able to find his website now and know for sure Sherlock wasn't lying.

John nodded, his eyes still fixed on him. “And who hired you for this?”

“Your sister.” Sherlock answered honestly.

“Harry?!” John laughed, “How did she even find you?”

“If you're only going to tell me one idea per day,” Sherlock replied, “then it's only fair that I answer one question only.”

“Alright.” John conceded and before he could continue the waiter came back with their order. Silence stretched between them once more and Sherlock realised it wasn't a forced one, John simply enjoying his hot coffee. How long had it been since Sherlock had shared such a silence?

“I was thinking,” John finally said, forcing Sherlock to look up at him again, “If by any probability you don't manage to figure out which idea is the right one, I’ll leave Harry a note. You'll only need to go to her to get it.”

“I won't need to.” Sherlock assured, making John smile again. “What's the first idea then?”

“What does this women over here want for Christmas?” John asked, clearly choosing to ignore Sherlock’s question entirely.

Sherlock repressed a sigh and looked over at the table to their right. The women in question was reading a book, her fingers playing with the spoon inside her cup. _This is not how I'm going to find John's perfect present,_ Sherlock realised. “Why do you care?”

“Your little speech back then was impressive, I give you that. But I want to make sure you're for real.” Good thing for John, Sherlock was never one to refuse a challenge.

“She has been single for a short time, ending her previous relationship because her girlfriend wasn't interested in the same things as her. She's enjoying this time by herself and comes here every day, sits with a book and reads for hours. Really, it's obvious that a good book would make her happy.”

“Ok. How?” John asked, puzzled.

“She tends to lean forward, as if she was expecting someone to be sitting before her. She only crossed her legs when she realised there isn't a pair of feet to snuggle to under the table. Then, there is the flagrant interest in the female waitress rather than the male ones.” Sherlock stopped, catching his breath. “The waiter brought her cup without her ordering it, which can only mean she comes here so often that they know what she wants. Her bag looks heavy, full. The corners are damaged due to the several books she carries around.”

He looked back at John, waiting. 

“Extraordinary.” John finally breathed out and Sherlock felt himself blush. He quickly took another sip of his coffee. He could blame the hot beverage for his sudden red cheeks. “And you can do that with anyone?”

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded and was rewarded with another warm smile.

“What about this couple, over there.” John pointed to another table and Sherlock settled more comfortably in his chair, any thoughts of finding John's gift forgotten, and proceed to impress John again.

It was only when he took another sip of his coffee and found it cold that Sherlock realised they've been here for more than a hour. He had deduced several customers, John asking just the right questions for him to notice the little details that prove everything. Not once did Sherlock got bored.

“It's getting late.” John declared after a minute of silence, startling Sherlock. “And to prove to you that this wasn't me asking you out, I will let you pay for your own drink.”

“How generous.” Sherlock replied, smiling. He got to his feet, putting his coat back on. “So what's your idea?”

“I want a trip to someplace warm and far from here.” John declared. _Lie._ “Same place, same time tomorrow?”

Sherlock nodded, “You're not leaving?” He inquired as John didn't move.

“I think I'm going to stay for a bit longer.”

Sherlock buttoned up his coat, “Goodbye then.”

“Bye.” John replied and Sherlock felt John’s eyes on him until he was finally out of the shop, still having no clue what John wanted but knowing he would be back the very next day.

During the first three days, they fell into a pattern. John was always already sitting when Sherlock arrived and asked his first and only question as soon as they got their drinks. Sherlock made sure to answer honestly, the mere thought of lying never crossing his kind. Not when John always asked the most unexpected questions. Then he would pick some customers for Sherlock to deduce and they would spend an hour talking about the people around them. It was strange, and not what Sherlock had planned, but he liked the moments spent in the warmth of the coffee shop. He even came to accept the fact that he enjoyed John’s company more than he had thought he would. He liked the way John smiled when he saw him enter the shop, the whispered “amazing” and “extraordinary”, the blatant lies about what he wanted for Christmas. Sherlock liked this John Watson, but he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

After giving his idea for the day, John never left with him, watching as Sherlock payed his bill and they said their goodbyes at the table. _Another mystery_. Somehow the thought only made Sherlock smile a bit wider as he left.

**December 15th**

“Have you ever considered using your deductions for something else?” John asked, warming his hand around his cup. “I’m sure you could find something more interesting than deducing people’s perfect gifts.”

“I’ve thought about it, multiple times.” Sherlock replied taking a sip of his coffee. “There was a time when I wanted to solve crimes. Become a consulting detective.” 

“Why didn't you?” John inquired, and Sherlock didn't point out that he already asked his one question. They had been following this rule for days now and Sherlock had enough. He wanted to know more about John, and deducing the customers around them wasn't helping.

“I went through some difficult times and missed my chance.”

John remained silent, the obvious next question on the tip of his tongue but he didn't say anything. They both sipped silently as Sherlock waited for John’s next question.

“Why solving crimes then, instead of anything else?”

“There was a kid living in the house next to mine when I was younger. He disappeared one day and I made it my mission to find him.” Sherlock recalled. John leant closer. “That's when I realised my deduction could be really helpful.”

“Did you find him?”

“I did.” Sherlock smiled and then proceed to tell John about the days spent looking for this missing boy, the numerous doors slammed in his face and the one night he found himself covered in dirt and grass for nothing. 

John's laughed and laughed, the deep sound filling the whole shop and resonating in Sherlock’s mind at the same time.

**December 16th**

Sherlock’s phone rang as he made his way out of 221B and he answered quickly, starting his walk. He had been engrossed in some experiment and hadn't seen the time fly.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He announced

“Mr. Holmes? It's Harriet Watson.”

“Yes?” He had no time to waste.

“It's been more than a week since I came to you. You do realize that Christmas is in nine days?”

“I had some complications in your brother’s case, but I'm getting close.” Sherlock reassured her.

“I should hope so.” She replied harshly.

“I have to go. I'll call you as soon as I've found the perfect idea.”

He didn't wait for her answer, hanging up and slipping the phone in his pocket. He could already see John waiting for him and Sherlock took a deep breath before opening the door.

**December 17th**

“I want a nice pair of shoes.” John declared at the end of their sixth meeting and Sherlock couldn’t suppress his laughter.

“Really John,” he smiled, “ you could’ve tried a bit harder.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” 

“You said so yourself,” Sherlock replied, “Eleven lies and one truth.”

“And why does a nice pair of shoes have to be a lie?” John inquired, resting his elbow on the table as he leant closer.

“You lived in a military camp for years, therefore you are used to minimum comfort and even find it reassuring. You dislike expensive clothes, as your poor taste in jumpers prove, and would never want a pair of shoes when you could find affordable ones yourself.”

“You really are amazing,” John breathed out, “One day you'll have to teach me how you do that.”

 _Teach you_ , Sherlock thought bitterly. _I'm not sure I can do that in six days, over a cup of coffee._

**December 18th**

When Sherlock arrived, John was not there.

He looked around, making sure John hadn't gone to another table but there was no trace of him. Sherlock checked the time, _he should be here._

Attempting to calm himself, Sherlock sat down and waited. Surely John was just running late, and probably had a perfectly good reason. There was nothing to worry about. 

When John’s breathless figure finally opened the shop door and a too-familiar warmth spread throughout his chest, Sherlock realised that he may have grown a bit too attached to their meetings. 

**December 19th**

“Anyone waiting for you at home?” John finally dared to ask, his eyes not quite meeting Sherlock’s.

Sherlock smiled at the question. He knew John would inquire about it at some point and he had been waiting for it all this time, preparing his answer. But as he stared at John, he only managed to let out, “No, no one.”

“Ok.” John licked his lips, another habit of his that Sherlock had noticed, “Why?”

“Relationships are tedious, predictable.” John nodded, looking down at his cup. “They're not worth the trouble.”

“Some are.” John whispered, almost too low for Sherlock to hear but before he could reply, John looked back up. “Time for my idea.”

Sherlock didn't point out that they weren't finished yet, smiling lightly as John pretended to search for a gift. “I want an umbrella.”

Sherlock burst into laugher and John joined him quickly. 

**December 20th**

Sherlock is in the middle of explaining the time he had to find a gift for a famous politician when John shifted on his chair and his right foot come to rest right against his. Sherlock expected him to remove it, maybe apologize, but John remained still, listening to him with the same intensity as always.

When they parted, almost thirty minutes later than usual, none of them said anything about it.

**December 21st**

It occurred to Sherlock that they had become regulars, the waiter getting their drinks as soon as Sherlock sat down.

He couldn't help but wonder what they must think of them. Two grown men, meeting for coffee everyday and parting after an hour or so. Did they discuss it among themselves, each one having his own idea? 

They could appear as two old friends catching up after a long time apart. Certainly not as colleagues, they were too different. Maybe they didn't even notice them. 

But one thing was for sure, they could not think they were a couple. Sherlock had been watching the couples around them and they were the exact opposite. John didn't reach for his hand, his thumbs tracing unknown patterns on his skin. John wasn’t leaning in for small kisses just because he could. John wasn't looking at him with fondness and little sparks of light in his eyes. 

_This is ridiculous_ , Sherlock shrugged on his way home, trying to convince himself he wasn't the least bit curious of how it would feel to have John’s lips against his own.

**December 22nd**

_Only one day left._

John is telling him about this mission back in Afghanistan, his eyes shining as he recalled his men and the burning sand. 

Sherlock can't take his eyes off of him.

He already had stored so many of John’s habits and looks that Sherlock fears he might never be able to properly delete it all. He's already visiting his Mind Palace too often when he's alone, remembering John’s smile as they drank silently or the way he had stared at him, all brave and serious when their fingers had brushed on the table. 

It's already burned into his memory and in complete honesty, Sherlock is not sure he ever wants to forget about John Watson.

_Only one day left._

**December 23rd**

“I guess this is our last goodbye then.” John declared as Sherlock stood up, having prolonged their time together long enough already. 

“It seems so.” Sherlock replied, “I still need your last idea.”

“Yes, right.” John laughed, “I want a journal to write down my days and thoughts.”

 _That could be it_ , Sherlock realised.

“I know you probably have guessed my perfect gift,” John declared, “But I will give Harry one last clue. You can go fetch it tomorrow.”

Sherlock nodded, too busy memorizing John's face and body. He needed to take as much as he could with him.

“I had a great time, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Surprisingly, so did I.” Sherlock smiled honestly, already taking out his wallet. “I hope you'll have a good Christmas.”

“Depends on my gift.” John laughed and Sherlock was glad he could hear it one last time. He nodded briefly, ignoring his heart beating loudly in his ears and walked to the counter. 

Forcing himself not to look back, Sherlock exited the coffee shop, leaving behind him a taste of regret.

**December 24th**

Sherlock stared down at the list he wrote during the last twelve days, all of John’s ideas, right before his eyes. Forcing myself himself not to look at the clock, Sherlock took out his pen and began to sort out all of the potential gifts.

A trip to some place warm. _Lie_  
A fine bottle of wine. _Lie?_  
A new watch. _Lie_  
Some new jumpers. _Lie_  
The latest book of Harlan Coben. _Lie_  
The integral of James Bond. _Lie_  
A nice pair of shoes. _Lie_  
An umbrella. _Lie_  
A box of chocolate. _Lie_  
Socks. _Lie_  
A new computer. _Lie_  
A journal. _Truth_?

Would have John kept the right idea for the last day? Maybe he feared Sherlock would stop coming if he gave it up too soon. But that was ridiculous, they both knew the other was coming everyday for something else entirely. A bottle of wine then? You usually like to share a good wine with someone else, and John was living alone. It has to be a lie too. Which only left the journal.

 _There is still the last clue_ , Sherlock told himself, and he was grabbing his coat in less than a second. The temptation to pass by the coffee shop had been torturing him for hours anyway. There was a high chance that John would be there, they had only agreed for twelve days but Sherlock had to be sure. 

But their table was empty and Sherlock watched for a moment, calming his beating heart. He still had to go to see John’s sister and who knew, maybe John would be there to give him the last clue. Sherlock hailed a cab, determined to find a way to keep John close. 

Harriet Watson lived a small apartment outside of London. Sherlock’s hopes came crashing down when she opened her door to an empty flat. 

“Ah Mr. Holmes,” she greeted him, “John said you'd come by.”

“He did?”

“Yes.” She let him in and walked to the kitchen table, picking up a large envelope. “He also gave me the idea I was waiting for, no thanks to you.” She said bitterly, but Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on his name, written on the envelope. “He said to give you this, that it was important. I don't bloody know why since he told me what to buy. By the way, I'm not paying you for this!”

“Fine.” Sherlock snapped, took the envelope and left the apartment without another word. He spent the entire ride home staring at the envelope, trying to guess what it contained. If John had given Harried his idea, then he didn't need to tell Sherlock a last clue. 

Looking back out the window, Sherlock let his fingers tap nervously on the envelope. He threw some cash at the driver as soon as he arrived and climbed the stairs quickly, locking his door before getting rid of his coat. He sat down in his chair and opened the envelope slowly, taking out several napkins. Sherlock frowned and then noticed the familiar name on it and John’s handwriting just below.

_Day 1._

Nothing more. Sherlock lifted the first one and turned it over. 

_I want to know what it feels like to touch you._

Sherlock put back the napkin on the pile quickly, his eyes fixed on the words John had wrote that first day. Inhaling deeply, he pulled out all of the napkins, placing them on the table in front of him. Then, he got ready to discover what John had truly wanted this all time.

_Day 2_

_I want to know what it feels like to be in your head, just for a moment._

_Day 3_

_I want to walk out this coffee shop with you and continue talking for hours and hours._

_Day 4_

_I want to ask, just once, why you agreed to these meetings and get an honest answer._

_Day 5_

_I want you to become that consulting detective. I want to watch as you use this brilliant mind of yours to help others, and run by your side._

_Day 6_

_I want to reach for your hand and not be afraid of how you would react._

_Day 7_

_I want to spend days and days trying to understand how your mind works, even if I know it would always remain a great mystery._

_Day 8_

_I want to prove to you that relationships are worth all of the trouble. That the reassurance of another person’s body next to yours at night is the most enjoyable feeling in the world._

_Day 9_

_I want to be that person in your bed, every night._

_Day 10_

_I want you to be the only person I can share my nightmares with.  
I want to be the only person you can share your past struggles with._

_Day 11_

_I want you to know that I lied.  
This was a not so subtle way of asking you out from the very beginning._

_Day 12_

_I want all of it Sherlock, with you.  
So this Christmas, what I want is pretty simple.  
Care to guess?_

Sherlock put down the last napkin, the sound of his own harsh breathing filling the sitting room. Without thinking twice, he got to his feet and grabbed his coat, a sigh of relief escaping him as he found the napkin he had kept days ago. He grabbed a pen and quickly wrote down his answer before calling for one of his homeless connection. In a matter of minutes a young woman was here and ready to deliver Sherlock’s message. There was only one place John would wait for him.

Walking back to his chair, Sherlock sat down. Now he needed to wait. He was certain John would understand his response but he couldn't help but wonder what would happen then. Did he really want all those things John had taken the time to write down? Was he ready for such a change? Looking down at the napkin again.

_This is ridiculous. Who enters a relationship after only twelve days? This is how every bad idea begins. I need to leave._

But just as he was standing up, Sherlock heard the front door opening and John introducing himself to Mrs. Hudson. 

“Sherlock, you've got a visitor!” She announced and he listened as John climbed the seventeen steps to his flat. 

“Sherlock?” John’s voice called as he knocked. 

“It's open.” Sherlock replied, his heart in his mouth.

John opened the door and came in quickly. He looked up at Sherlock, smiling almost shyly before removing his coat, placing it on the sofa. As John moved toward him, Sherlock noticed the napkin in John’s hand. He stopped before Sherlock, close enough for Sherlock to notice his shortness of breath, _he ran to meet me_. It was ridiculous, but Sherlock couldn’t help but feel so damn happy about John running around London to get here as fast as possible. 

“So,” John asked in a whisper, “which one is my chair?”

Sherlock smiled and John giggled lightly, his smile spreading to his entire face and Sherlock had to capture this sound, make it his. Without thinking twice about it, Sherlock leant in until his lips were resting against John's thin ones. John inhaled deeply through his nose and pushed back a little, pressing their mouths together more firmly. They stayed still, with their lips as only point of contact and Sherlock already craved more.

They broke apart at the same time and John rested their foreheads together, their breath mingling between them. It seemed so easy with John standing so very close. He felt John slide his mouth against his jaw and chin, before moving back to his lips, only this time they both moved closer until they were pressed against one another, sharing a hungry kiss. John’s lips were demanding against his and Sherlock parted them, letting John's tongue invade his mouth. He felt two strong arms circle his waist and Sherlock let himself melt into John’s embrace. 

“Sherlock,” John breathed when they parted, keeping their bodies melded. “I really, really want this.”

Sherlock hummed and sought out his mouth, letting his hands slide down John's back. He could feel John’s hardening erection against his thigh and the feeling made him dizzy with want. It had been so long since he had engaged in sexual intercourse and the prospect of experiencing it with John made him shiver. 

“Sherlock,” John sighed again when he let him go, “I need to know that's what you want too.”

“John,” Sherlock smiled against his lips, “I wanted to kiss you from the moment you backed me up in that alley, and believe it or not, it took me thirteen days to realise it.”

“That's a bit embarrassing for someone who can deduce another person's wants in less than a minute.” John laughed and Sherlock swallowed the deep rumble right away. 

With Sherlock’s approval clear, John began to really attack him. He moved his hands down to Sherlock’s arse and pulled, their erections slotting together, the both of them moaning inside their kiss. In harmony, they began to rut against the other, the friction too good, so good that Sherlock had to detach himself from John’s mouth, biting his lower lip as John sucked at his neck. 

“Bedroom?” John panted, and Sherlock reached for his hand, leading him to his room.

He only had the time to lie down before John was crawling above him, his lips seeking Sherlock’s and his hands working at his shirt. They removed each other clothes quickly, John kissing at every new patch of skin revealed until Sherlock was squirming on the bed. The gasp that escaped him when John finally lowered his naked body on top of his own must have resonated in the entire flat.

“John,” He moaned as their erections slid together. “Drawer.” Sherlock breathed out, “lube.”

“Yes, yes.” John panted against him and reached for the tube, coating his hand before reaching for both of their cocks. John’s entire body trembled above him and Sherlock watched with sharp eyes as John’s face was lost in pleasure. He was beautiful.

Then John's thumb slid over the head of his cock and Sherlock keened, arching his back and crying out. He needed more, so much more. “John, John.”

Stroking them faster, John kissed him again. He bit and sucked and licked at Sherlock’s lips, reducing Sherlock to a boneless state. He could only feel John’s body on his, his marvelous hand and lips. Sherlock wanted this moment to never end. He needed to have John like his all the time, surrounding him, making him his. _John, John, John._

Then John bit down at Sherlock’s neck, tightening his grip on both of them and Sherlock tripped over the edge, come spurting between them, his orgasm taking all the breath out of him. He felt John lift himself up, closing Sherlock’s legs before thrusting between his thighs, moaning loudly. Sherlock kept his thighs pressed tight together, squeezing John’s cock. John thrusted three, four times before he went still above him, looking down at Sherlock with such wonder that it made Sherlock’s stomach tighten. 

John laid himself down again, rolling to his side and Sherlock turned so he could attach himself to him. He listened to John’s rapid breathing and moaned happily as he felt him trace patterns on his back. This was completely ridiculous but Sherlock didn't care anymore. He snuggled closer until his head was resting on John’s chest and closed his eyes. 

Somewhere on the sitting room floor laid a old and used napkin, a few lines written on it in Sherlock’s scrawl that read :

_I want you in 221B Baker Street._  
I want you in the chair facing mine.  
I want you drinking the coffee I made in a cup from my kitchen.  
I want… 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are very appreciated :)


End file.
